


The Bargain

by Marian_De_Haan



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Action, Gen, Intrigue, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-11-02 00:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marian_De_Haan/pseuds/Marian_De_Haan
Summary: Servalan, with the help of Carnell, puts temptation into Avon’s path... how can he refuse?





	The Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> Published in Horizon #22. Reproduced here on the author's behalf and with the author's permission.

"If you had kept your promise, Supreme Commander, this atrocity would never have happened."

Secretary Rontane — lean, sleek and suave — indicated the screen, on which three men and two women could be seen robbing a splendidly attired gathering of diplomats sitting at dinner.

"The President is furious," added Councillor Bercol, who was portly but equally sleek and suave. "Being held at gunpoint in his own residence while entertaining ambassadors from all the Federated Planets!"

"lt wrecked the Cassiona conference," Rontane observed. "Months of preparation wasted!"

"The conference," Bercol stressed, "which was meant to restore faith in the administration after the damage Blake and his friends have been doing."

Rontane watched the screen with distaste. A dark-haired man came into view, collecting the money and jewellery the terrified diners were handing over. Aware that he was being filmed, he looked directly into the security camera, his haughty features rippling into a roguish grin.

"A textbook raid," Rontane remarked sourly. "Carried out in six minutes flat. By the time the security forces had been alerted, the thieves were gone."

As if on cue, the group on screen, guns still trained on the diners, gathered around a curly-haired man who raised his arm to his mouth. He spoke into a large metal bracelet. The next moment all five raiders vanished.

Bercol shuddered delicately, his chins wobbling. "The humiliation!"

Rontane shifted his gaze from the screen to the woman behind the desk. "Did you recognise them, Supreme Commander?"

Servalan, in charge of the Terran Federation military forces, nodded coldly. "Of course. Blake and his bunch of rebels." Sweetly she added, "But I have to point out, gentlemen, that the safety of the President and his guests is the responsibility of his personal guard, who do not fall under my authority."

Rontane was the perfect diplomat. "With respect, Supreme Commander, if you had carried out your promise to deal with Blake, the President would have been spared this devastating humiliation."

Bercol cleared his throat. "He is adamant that Blake must be eliminated without delay."

Servalan stood, indicating the end of the conversation as far as she was concerned. "It will be done. Secretary, Councillor — you can give the President my personal guarantee."

After seeing her guests out of the office, Servalan furiously pressed a button on her desk communicator.

"Get Carnell here!" Interrupting a protest, she snapped, "I don't care what he's doing. Find him and bring him in. NOW!"

She used the time she was kept waiting to extract a stack of printed sheets from a drawer in her desk. There was no need to read them; she knew the contents by heart.

Carnell entered, a presentable young psycho-strategist with a high opinion of himself. His eyes could melt the stoniest of women's hearts. Servalan, who possessed an eye for decorative men, had passed some agreeable evenings with him.

At this moment, however, she was not in the mood for pleasantries. "The President has been raided while entertaining the Ambassadors to dinner on Cassiona. Watch this!" She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the screen.

When the short recording had finished, she echoed Rontane's question: "Do you recognise them?"

Seemingly unperturbed by her cold tone, Carnell replied, "The one with the curly hair is Roj Blake. The blonde woman is Jenna Stannis. The other woman must be the Auron, Cally. And the other two are Kerr Avon and Vila Restal." Without waiting for permission, Carnell sat down in the chair vacated by Bercol. "The only one missing is Olag Gan."

"Who no doubt was on their ship operating the teleport," Servalan said acidly. She picked up the sheets. "In this report you state that Blake and his criminals are no threat to the Federation because their characters will make it impossible to form a cohesive team. You predict they will spend more time fighting amongst themselves than against us. 'Kerr Avon will never bend to Blake's authority'," she quoted. "'He is only interested in acquiring wealth. He will never be prepared to risk his life fighting the Federation."

Servalan activated the rewind button. On the screen the figures reversed their actions, handing back valuables. Carnell suppressed a smile.

"This looks like outstanding teamwork to me." Servalan froze the image on the screen, fixing the dark man's wolfish smile. "And Avon seems to be positively enjoying himself risking his life for Blake's cause."

"He's enjoying the robbery," Carnell corrected her smoothly. "They all are. I guarantee that this was the first enterprise where Blake had no trouble getting everyone to volunteer."

"Blake has made a public announcement that the proceeds will fund the fight against the Federation, and not be used for personal pleasure."

Carnell laughed scornfully. "Maybe... but only the portion they hand over. Blake will be lucky if he gets to see half of what they took. Look at those pockets!"

The rebels were dressed in combat suits of similar design but different colours. Blake and Cally were dressed in green, Avon in royal blue, Vila in red and Jenna in magenta. Idly, Carnell wondered what shade Gan would have chosen. Brown, probably.

"It's a demonstration," he said. "Blake wants us to believe that he has a team of dedicated freedom fighters."

"He has convinced the President," Servalan commented dryly. "You were wrong, Carnell. You predicted that Avon would either kill Blake so he could use the ship for his own criminal activities, or leave to make his fortune on some neutral planet. Yet he is still with them."

Once again she looked at the frozen image on the screen. Kerr Avon fascinated her. The only portraits of him she'd seen before now had shown him scowling. That smile made all the difference. And his deep brown eyes were as enticing as Carnell's blue ones.

Lost in thought, Carnell drummed his fingers on the desk. "I don't make mistakes," he stated flatly. "If I have read him incorrectly then your information about him must have been incomplete." He looked up at her just in time to catch her expression. "What have you held back?"

Servalan considered her answer carefully. There were things she could not reveal. "He is convinced that the woman he loved died whilst being interrogated by the Federation."

"What?" Carnell prided himself on never being surprised, but now he jumped from his seat. "That could make all the difference! Why was this not included in his file?"

"Because it is top secret. And you will not refer to it in your own report," she warned him.

"I'll have to do a full re-appraisal."

Servalan switched off the projector. "That can wait. Kerr Avon is not our problem at the moment. It is Blake's head that the President wants..."

Carnell stared at the now-blank screen. "Nothing easier. Avon can help us."

"What do you mean?" It was Servalan's turn to be taken by surprise. "How do you propose we persuade him to help us?"

Cornell's smile mirrored Avon's. "By making him an offer he cannot refuse."

* * * * *

"I've cracked the code of the Albian embassy," Avon announced. "Listen to this."

Whilst the crew gathered around his position on _Liberator's_ flightdeck, he read from the screen in front of him: "An audacious raid, which demonstrates the Federation's inability to deal with dissidents. If a gang of nine can penetrate..."

"Nine?" Vila interrupted indignantly. "That ambassador can't count!"

"They must have bumped up the figures to make it sound a little less embarrassing," Jenna theorised.

Gan grinned. "Well, five of us tackling twenty five of them is a bit painful..."

"...can penetrate the residence of the President himself," Avon went on, raising his voice, "what kind of protection can Albian expect from the Federation?"

Avon smiled in satisfaction. He'd been monitoring the messages beamed by the angry ambassadors to their home planets, and had managed to decode a dozen up to now. None of them had been favourable to the Federation.

"We have done more harm by this one act than we could have done by blowing up half a dozen communication centres," Cally remarked.

"And without a single killing," Gan added.

"We're going to become a legend," Vila predicted happily. "People will start singing songs about us."

Blake listened sourly to their chatter. He still had an uneasy feeling about the whole enterprise. Somehow stealing for the cause did not seem right. Maybe, he admitted honestly to himself, he just resented its success because it had been Avon's idea. His unexpected, uncharacteristic initiative had been more unsettling than his usual cynical criticism.

And now Avon was basking in the glory of his success. Blake had never seen him so enthusiastic before.

To regain the authority he felt that he had lost, Blake said firmly, "I meant what I said. We will be using the proceeds to help other revolutionaries fight the Federation."

Vila's hand went to his pocket, where the items he'd refrained from handing over were nestling comfortably. To allay any suspicion, he protested vehemently: "That's not fair, Blake! I had planned to keep my share as insurance for my old age."

Avon smiled nastily at him. "That's not something you need worry about. If we continue with Blake's futile fight for freedom none of us will reach old age."

But although he managed the right level of scorn, Avon's heart was not in it. The thought of the small fortune in his pocket mellowed him. That, and the fact that amongst the things he had handed over to Blake was some fake jewellery, taken from the Helotrician ambassador, was highly amusing.

Jenna, who found that in Blake's presence she was developing a conscience, felt her own hidden stash almost burning through her pocket. _Well_, she told herself sternly, _a girl has to look after herself_.

Cally, who had honestly given up her entire haul, kept her eyes on the screen. "There's a transmission coming in," she announced.

"Record it Zen," Avon instructed the computer.

"What's it saying?" Vila asked.

"Message in BAR-tech," Cally read.

"What does that mean?" Jenna enquired.

"Zen?" Blake demanded.

\+ No information is available. +

"That's a big help!" Vila moaned.

Blake turned to their expert. "Avon?"

Frowning, the computer genius shook his head. "I don't know." He lied so well that none of the others suspected a thing.

Jenna asked, "Where does the transmission come from?"

"Difficult to say," Cally replied. "It seems to be relayed through the whole galaxy."

"Then it can have nothing to do with us and Cassiona," Avon concluded, leaving his position and heading for the corridor. "I'm going to get myself something to drink."

When he had gone, Vila asked anxiously, "So how much longer are we going to stay hiding behind this hunk of dead rock?"

While the Federation ships were diligently searching the galaxy, the _Liberator_was orbiting Cassiona's moon in a pattern that kept it permanently from sight of the planet.

"Until the pursuit ships are recalled," Blake snapped.

"As long as those ships are searching outwards, we're safe," Jenna reminded Vila.

"Well it's Avon's idea isn't it?" Vila queried. "I thought you distrusted him?"

Jenna almost snorted. "We can rely on his sense of self preservation."

Vila's eyes lit up. "That's true isn't it? I'm safe with him!"

The others exchanged amused glances. The mysterious message was already forgotten.

* * * * *

Vila was dozing happily on the central couch on the flightdeck. Night watch always made him sleepy. And it was not as if they needed to watch anything, he reminded himself on the rare occasions he felt a twinge of uneasiness over his behaviour. Zen never slept, and would warn him if an emergency arose.

So he was not aware of the figure that tiptoed elegantly towards him. Only when he felt one hand over his mouth and another pinning him to the couch did Vila wake up in alarm.

"Sleeping on duty," Avon hissed. "In the military that would mean the firing squad."

"Lucky we're not in the army then," Vila retorted when Avon finally released him.

"Keep your voice down," Avon warned him. "There's no need to wake the others."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Vila wanted to know.

"Checking your state of wakefulness. I don't like being surprised by those pursuit ships."

"You're uneasy about them then?" Avon produced his put-down smile. "Not particularly. I think they'll need another day or two to complete their search. But somewhere some bright officer may get the idea to look in the right place." He moved over to his position. "I'm taking over here. You can go to bed."

"Really?" Vila could not believe his luck. "You mean it?"

"Yes. In exchange you can take over my catering duties tomorrow." Vila sighed. Avon's favours never came free. But providing the crew with an instant meal from the _Liberator's_ well-filled store and putting a few glasses in the recycler could hardly be called an onerous task, even by Vila's standards.

"Okay, thanks."

Not giving Avon time to change his mind, Vila hurried to his cabin.

* * * * *

As soon as Vila had gone, Avon activated _Liberator's_ translation computer. BAR-tech was a computer language that had gone out of use some two hundred years before. He knew enough about it to revive and implement it. Moreover, he was one of the few computer experts in the galaxy who would be able to recognise it. Therefore, the odds were that this mysterious message was meant for him.

It took some time to find the necessary code, but at last Avon was able to program the computer. Not wanting to have the machine shout the translation all over the flightdeck, he plugged in a headset. Seeing that the transmission included visual, he activated the screen at his console.

The image of a woman appeared. Her eyes, heavily made up, were large and brown. Her hair was black and cropped very short.

"Congratulations Avon," came her voice over the headphone. "I knew you'd be able to work it out."

The image smiled alluringly. "I am Supreme Commander Servalan. And I'm impressed by your recent little expedition to Cassiona. Yes, it was your idea, wasn't it? Blake is a simple man, he just wants to blow things up. Your talents are wasted with him, Avon."

Servalan toyed with a blood-red artificial flower. "I have a proposal I'd like to discuss with you. Something which could be advantageous to us both. Of course, any task you took on for me would be highly rewarded."

The bloom was lowered in an inviting gesture. "Contact me whenever you want. Use the following co-ordinates and code sign, and you will be connected with me at once. Use the code name Cassiona."

The image was replaced with a string of numbers. Avon quickly made a note of them before blanking the screen and wiping the message from the memory banks.

Avon leaned back in his seat with his head against the headrest. He could very well imagine what the proposal would be.

The safest thing would be to ignore the message. It would be folly to trust any Federation official, and especially Supreme Commander Servalan. For a woman to have been able to rise to such rank must mean she possessed not only excellent connections but outstanding talents as well.

But Avon's curiosity was piqued. He wanted to know how much his services would be worth to the Federation. Without giving himself time for further thought, he programmed the provided co-ordinates into the _Liberator's_ transmitter.

* * * * *

Servalan's face appeared on the screen less than five minutes later.

"Avon," she purred, "I am delighted you called."

Avon was not about to be taken in by her charms. "You had a proposal."

"So I do." She smiled sweetly at him, seemingly not at all put out by his cold tone. "Five million credits."

Feeling his heartbeat quicken, Avon managed to keep his face impassive and his voice level. "In exchange for what, exactly?"

"Blake. Alive."

Having expected this, Avon did not pretend to be surprised. "He is worth more to you than that."

Servalan hid a smile of satisfaction. This was going smoothly. "Ten million credits then."

Avon shook his head. "That's still not enough for me to betray..." He came up with his most sardonic smile. "... A friend."

"It is all the money on offer." She paused. "However, I can offer you something else."

Avon gazed at her with open scepticism. "What could be worth more to me than money?"

"The name of the man who tortured Anna Grant to death."

The blow came as hard as if she'd hit him physically, and was totally unexpected. Suddenly he found it hard to breathe. Avon paled visibly.

_So Carnell was right_, Servalan reflected. _The wound is still open... Wide, wide open_.

"Give me the man himself," Avon demanded, his voice harsh.

"No. Just his name."

"And if I go after him l'll find your people lying in wait for me."

"Possibly. But I think you are clever enough to avoid any trap of mine."

"You flatter me." Avon's gaze was ice-cold, his voice brittle. "All right. We have a deal. I'll let you know where you can pick Blake up."

"Wait a minute. I decide..."

He interrupted her savagely: "We do it on my terms, or not at all!"

"As you wish," she conceded gracefully. "I'll put a ship on standby. Just let me know where to send it."

"Make sure you bring the money. All of it." Avon broke the connection.

* * * * *

In her office, Servalan gave Carnell a satisfied smile. "You were right."

"He would probably have done it for the name alone," the psychostrategist mused. "Ten million credits for Blake is not exactly a bargain."

"Oh but it is," Servalan assured him. "Because we're not going to pay him a single credit."

* * * * *

Towards noon Vila went to Avon's cabin. The computer expert had spent the whole morning there, which usually meant he was busy working on some gadget. Knowing that in such circumstances Avon was prone to forgetting the time, and considering Blake's insistence that they took the midday meal together, Vila had come to give him a timely warning.

"Avon?" He knocked on the door.

"Enter," came the curt reply.

Surprised, Vila hastened to oblige. It was not often one was invited into the hallowed privacy of Avon's cabin.

Avon sat at a table facing the door, diligently working on a piece of electronic equipment. He did not look up.

"Avon," Vila began, "it's time for lunch."

No response. The dark head stayed bent over his work.

"Avon?" Mystified, Vila approached him. "Avon, do you hear me?"

Still not getting a reaction, Vila reached out to touch Avon on the shoulder. He let out a cry when his fingers went right through what should have been flesh and blood.

"Impressive, wouldn't you say?" Vila turned in the direction of the voice.

Avon stood leaning against the wall behind him.

Gazing from wall to table and back again, Vila's initial shock was forgotten. "What's that then, a hologram?"

"Of a sort."

Vila looked round in bewilderment. "Where are the projectors then?"

Avon indicated a small, camera-like device fastened high up on the cabin wall. "I've disguised it as a surveillance camera. As former citizens of the Federation we're so used to seeing those we don't even notice them any more."

Vila was intrigued. "But for a hologram to work you need at least three projectors, positioned in a triangle..."

"Not for this one. It works by sending out four beams, three of which are reflected off the walls and meet the fourth in the centre, forming the image. Naturally the alignment needs to be precise to get all the beams to converge exactly. It's all very complicated," Avon finished smugly.

Vila's face fell. Just once, he'd like to see a gadget of Avon's fail.

As if obeying his wish, the projection dissolved. Putting down the remote control, Avon moved over to the projector to take it from its bracket.

Idly watching him, Vila said, "l wish you'd let me borrow that."

Avon smiled at him condescendingly. "So you can appear diligently on watch whilst lying asleep in your cabin?"

Vila was spared having to find a response by Blake's angry voice calling from the corridor.

"Avon! Vila! We're waiting!"

Vila hurried out of the cabin, thus missing the look of pure hatred that curdled on Avon's face. He detested being summoned like some Delta grade, especially by Blake.

While he followed Vila with deliberate slowness, Avon envisaged a future with Blake out of the way and himself in control of the _Liberator_. It was an agreeable picture.

* * * * *

Blake was the kind of leader who felt obliged to set an example for his crew. Therefore, he had included himself in the night watch roster. It being his turn that night, he retired to his cabin early in the evening to catch some sleep.

Avon saw him depart, idly observing how haggard he looked. Apparently being an idealistic, ardent and dedicated revolutionary was not conducive to good health. And it limited your life expectancy rather considerably as well.

Avon, however, was determined to live to a ripe old age.

Declining the offer to join the others in a game of galactic monopoly, he went to his own cabin.

A few hours later he re-emerged, carrying amongst other things a length of rope and a piece of cloth. Just outside the entrance to the flightdeck he halted to listen. The game was still in progress, developing along the usual pattern with Jenna in front, Cally and Gan somewhere in the middle and Vila, moaning loudly about his bad fortune, trailing behind.

With a satisfied smile, Avon silently retraced his steps. Outside Blake's cabin he stopped. Pushing the button, he was not surprised when the door slid open. Blake wasn't the sort of man to lock his door — the fool! Avon could have picked the lock if necessary, but this made it all the easier. He went inside, locking the door behind him. Determinedly he approached Blake's sleeping form.

* * * * *

The Federation spaceship touched down on the landing pad of the abandoned complex on the mined-out asteroid.

In her office at Space Headquarters, Servalan waited impatiently with Carnell for confirmation from the female mutoid aboard the vessel. When it came, she activated her transmitter.

"Avon, the ship has landed."

"I see it Servalan," came the reply.

"Open the airlock for my representative."

"So you have not come yourself?" His lightly mocking tone made it clear that he had not expected her to.

After a few minutes the mutoid reported, "I am entering the room, Supreme Commander."

"Give me visual," Servalan ordered.

Immediately the screen in her office illuminated, showing Avon, gun in hand, standing squarely beside a dejected looking Blake, who was sitting on the floor with his hands tied behind his back and his mouth gagged. The figures expanded on the screen as the mutoid, mini camera strapped to her breast, moved closer.

They saw Avon raise his gun. "Hold it there."

The image steadied as the mutoid stopped. "Can you see him, Servalan?" Avon enquired.

"He does not look very much alive," the Supreme Commander observed.

"l drugged him," Avon informed her dryly. "Or did you think he would come willingly?" He gestured to the mutoid to take her camera closer. "Look at his eyes."

They could see the seated figure blinking and gazing at his surroundings as if he was trying to get his bearings.

"That's close enough," Avon warned the mutoid.

"He's alive all right," Carnell remarked to Servalan. She nodded.

"And he isn't wearing a teleport bracelet." She would not have put it past Avon to let Blake be teleported back with him, after receiving the money.

"Avon seems to be wearing two bracelets on his own arm," Carnell observed.

"Yes I can see that."

"Satisfied, Servalan?" Avon's voice held a note of impatience.

"Yes," she replied somewhat reluctantly, still not totally convinced that he wasn't going to try and cheat her.

"Then where's the money?"

"Mutoid!"

For a fleeting moment Avon felt a surge of repulsion for a regime which could turn human beings into living robots, depriving them of all personality and even their names.

Observing Avon's body language, Carnell said, "He's not enjoying this."

Servalan smiled. "A pity, as this will be the last thing he ever does."

Warily, Avon eyed the case the mutoid set down at her feet. "There wouldn't be a tracer inside, would there Servalan? So you can inform your battlefleet where to find the _Liberator_ once I've taken it aboard?"

"Oh Avon!" she exclaimed with mock indignation.

He had taken a small device from his pocket, which he held out in the direction of the case, scanning it. "Well," he conceded, putting the scanner away, "it seems I misjudged you."

"Your distrust wounds me deeply," she said. "Next you will accuse me of giving you counterfeit credits."

His voice was cold. "That possibility did cross my mind."

"Then check it."

"The money," he reminded her doggedly, "is only half the payment."

"Oh yes," Servalan said sweetly. "The name," she paused, enjoying toying with him.

"Well?"

Servalan relented. "The man you want is called Shrinker."

"A code name, obviously."

"Obviously, and he's proud of it. You'll be able to find him," she assured him, suddenly impatient. "Now let's get on with it. Count your money!"

"Yes," Avon affirmed harshly. "Let's get on with it." He brought his arm with the bracelets up to his mouth. "_Liberator_, bring me up!"

His body shimmered and disappeared.

Servalan looked from the screen to Carnell in disbelief. "He's left the case behind!"

The psychostrategist could not help feeling a touch of admiration.

"He must have suspected it would blow up in his face the moment he opened it."

"Why did he leave us Blake then?" Servalan wondered.

"It's a trick," Carnell hissed in alarm.

"Mutoid!" Servalan shouted. "Check..."

The sound of a small explosion came over the transmitter. At the same time, Blake disappeared.

The mutoid adjusted her recorder. High on the wall where a security camera had been, a few smouldering wires could be seen.

"Avon!" Servalan yelled in frustration.

As if he'd heard her, the sharp distinctive voice came over the open channel.

"Servalan, l just wanted you to know that I am safely back aboard the _Liberator_. We're on the move and will be out of contact range shortly. Blake is here with me — he never left the ship. What you saw was a hologram. I've destroyed the projector, to prevent your technicians from ever discovering how it worked."

Servalan's fury rose in her like bile. Carnell sat listening, feeling strangely detached, as if it was all happening to someone else.

"I knew you would cheat me," Avon continued. "Using that mutoid confirmed that you meant to kill us both there and then. Mutoids are expendable, aren't they? And your insistence that I checked the money suggests the case contained an explosive primed to go off when opened. With both me and Blake dead, you hoped to take the _Liberator_ without much trouble."

A second voice took over. "Servalan, this is Blake. While explaining your failure to kill me to the President, do give him my regards!"

* * * * *

On the flightdeck of the _Liberator_, Avon switched off the transmitter. Heading back to his position which he'd left to operate the teleport, Blake asked, "Zen, any sign of pursuit ships?"

\+ Negative. +

"By the time she's recalled them from the search we'll be well away," Avon predicted.

"You could have delivered me to her," Blake said. "You had me at your mercy. You could have overpowered me instead of waking me up and asking for my help with that recording."

Avon gave him an unreadable smile. "I was tempted. But I knew she would cheat me."

You're not deceiving me, Blake thought, amused as he always was by Avon's persistence in providing rational reasons for his decent deeds. _However hard you try to pretend Io be a ruthless bastard, there are things even you will not stoop to. And selling me to the Federation is one of them_.

"She tried to cheat me and l cheated her," Avon observed with cold satisfaction. "But I got what I was after."

"The name of the torturer," Blake mused. With quiet compassion he hazarded, "A man who killed someone who was dear to you?"

Avon turned away. "Yes." His voice made it clear that the subject was now closed.

"Will you go after him?" 

"Not now. She will expect that and be waiting for me. But he'll keep. One day I will get him."

Blake did not doubt it. "And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime," Avon said carefully, still with his back rigidly to the other, "I will continue my study of _Liberator's_ computer systems." Then suddenly he turned to face his leader, spitting out, "Don't let that give you any ideas, Blake! I'm still not prepared to risk my life for your fight!"

Head held high, Avon marched off the flightdeck.

Smiling serenely, Blake watched him go. "Our fight, Avon," he murmured softly, "Our fight."


End file.
